Page 40 of Secondhand Smoke
“You shouldn’t swear, man. Not if you’re going for the pastor’s daughter.” Dennis chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
Barrett was most certainlynotgoing for the pastor’s daughter.
He wasn’t the type to get nervous before a show. He’d never had stage fright. But now, thinking about her watching him from the crowd, his stomach filled with those pesky little butterflies he’d heard so much about.
15 - Nell
She’d heard a whole lot about The Pour House.
It was one of two bars in the entire town, and it was well known to be the seedier of the two—the kind that most people liked to avoid unless their primary goal was to get plastered, or where they went when they already were. Luckily, it was also the closer of the two and mostly downhill from her house, so when she arrived, she wasn’t totally burned out from the ride.
When she entered, a cloud of smoke and the hazy dim bar lighting hit her in the face. The brightest light in the area was focused on the half-a-foot-tall stage, which was empty aside from a drum set.
Now that she thought about it, she had no idea who played what in the band aside from Barrett. He played guitar and, from the sounds of it, was also the singer. Or maybe they were all singers. She guessed she would find out.
Walking to the back of the bar, she found a nice spot away from anyone else, at a table that was sticky to the touch, so she kept her hands in her lap.
She’d expected more looks when she entered, but aside from a few double takes, most people seemed oblivious to her presence, too drunk to care. That was the way she preferred it.
Besides, a few other attendees seemed more out of place than she did. Right up against the stage was a group of about five girls who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, sporting wicked,teased hair that in some places looked spiked. When she focused on their faces, she saw dark makeup rings around their eyes.
She was glad she wasn’t around them because they looked like they could rip her to shreds.
They didn’t seem at all interested in sitting down. Instead, they all hugged the stage like they were afraid someone was going to sweep in and steal their spot.
When a door on the side of the stage opened and the girls started screaming at the top of their lungs, she realized that they were there for the band.
The shrill pitch of teenage girls fawning over the band made her jump and wince. She wasn’t the only one. Several of the bigger men at the bar turned around to see the commotion, sharing confused looks, but none of them seemed to understand what the big deal was. A few of them rolled their eyes, scoffing at the display.
Toni was at the front of the line, two drumsticks in his hands, frozen in the doorway. The girls continued to scream and giggle, and Toni stared like they’d grown a second head.
When Dennis and Paulie managed to push him forward into the room so they could see what was happening, they looked the same way—like they were starstruck, completely astonished by the sight.
So this was not normal, she supposed.
Finally, Barrett came out with his guitar, and the girls acted like they hadn’t already been screaming. Nell chuckled, shaking her head in astonishment as their piercing yells echoed in her ear. Nell wondered if she would be able to hear the sound of the guitar over all this racket.
But it was entertaining nonetheless to witness Barrett and his friends try to figure out what to make of the spectacle as they stepped onto the stage and the lights illuminated them.
Barrett walked up to the microphone that sat front and center, and grabbed it, his eyes not leaving the group of girls. With all that happening, Nell doubted he would notice her sitting at her dark little table in the back. She’d just have to make it a point to approach him after the show.
“Uh, it looks like we’ve got quite the crowd tonight,” he said into the microphone, and the five girls who had settled long enough to listen to his talk gave yelps of encouragement. A couple of drunk people did the same. Feeling motivated, he pulled the microphone closer to his face and raised his guitar into the air. “We’re Seventh Circle.”
There was a crash as Toni smashed his sticks into the cymbals, and suddenly Nell was thrown into the cacophony of instruments playing together. The thrashing and noise should’ve sounded bad, except that they all had a surprising amount of control of the rhythm.
She didn’t know the song, but she thought she might have heard it before in passing. Maybe from one of the records Barrett or one of the others had shown her the other night. She’d heard so much metal music that it all blended together.
For a while, it was just that: instruments harmonizing and creating the upbeat, uptempo sound. She wondered if it would stay like that, until Barrett stepped forward to the microphone again and began singing.
It wasn’t that she’d thought Barrett would be abadsinger; she just wasn’t expecting him to sound so . . . good.
Her back straightened, and her mouth opened slightly.
His voice had a certain rasp that most people would never be able to pull off, but for him, it worked so well. Combined with the way he handled his guitar, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back . . . Scott Barrett wasattractive.
There. She’d said it.
She must have a thing for guitar players.
